


Everybody Do Your Share

by ToastCrunch



Category: Silicon Valley (TV)
Genre: Jarrich, M/M, Post Season 2, Slow Burn, jared helps him out, no explicit sex, richard has to clean the house so he can stay
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-18
Updated: 2015-11-07
Packaged: 2018-04-21 07:57:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,962
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4821362
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ToastCrunch/pseuds/ToastCrunch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Richard Hendricks is cleaning up a lot of messes. The living room, the fridge, his own vomit, and his own fuckups. Jared just wants to help a little bit, because he likes keeping things tidy. His room, his clothes, and his relationships. This time, that last one might not be working out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

My eyes sting, really, a lot. And my mouth tastes like vomit again, and I'm pretty sure that has to be just terrible for my teeth. The vomit, I mean. Not the way it tastes. Because, seriously? 

"All this... I mean, did Gavin Belson actually need Pied Piper? No. He has, like, infinite money. Does he actually need to keep me from ever getting a job again?! No, actually, he doesn't!" I say, ending with a shout that chokes out of me.

"I don't think that's what's... Richard, I don't mean to say that you're wrong, but I think that quite possibly, your assumptions are incorrect," says Jared. This is the person I trusted to help me find a job. This is the least annoying person in my life.

"Really--that's really helpful, Jared. And I'm being sarcastic, so actually, what I mean is that it is not helpful! At all," I reply. There's that metallic taste in my mouth, which has never once been a good sign, and now I'm shaking, and--

"Richard? Do you need a moment to yourself?" --Jared has his hand on my shoulder, and I don't, don't want that. I jerk away and choke out:

"Y--yes!" 

God, I'm even worse than usual, which is not helped by the fact that Jared is kind of a creepy guy, and is the only one bothering to help me find a job. Oh, I feel so sick, this is ridiculous ...in general, I do not like people touching me, especially not Jared's weird cold skeleton hands. No. Just, no. Please don't let this be a regular thing again. I'm so tired of puking my guts out every-- oh, come ON! I was like, two feet away from the bathroom! If this keeps happening, I'm pretty sure stress vomiting is going to be like my signature trait. If there was a trading card of me, it'd say: Fun Fact: Richard Hendricks pukes when nervous! The picture would be a headshot of me crying while not looking at the camera.

"Richard, you are paying to get that rug cleaned," says Erlich. Wow. He can be really quiet when he's got slippers on.

"I did not see you there, Erlich. But I'm a little short on funds right now, so I'll actually just clean that up myself," I say. Fun Fact: Richard Hendricks' hobbies include spending the afternoon cleaning up his own vomit. 

"That will also be acceptable. Speaking of your duties as a working member of my incubator, I think we need to have a conversation. Preferably while you do the dishes, because I'm out of narrow spoons," says Erlich. 

"Sure. Yeah. Definitely," I answer. If he kicks me out, I am totally fucked. "But should I maybe clean this up first?"

"Yes, Richard. I would like you to clean up the vomit. One would think that would be self evident." I almost say "wouldn't one?" under my breath, but I don't want a speech about how mocking a man when he is so graciously letting you stay in his home is a terrible, terrible offense. That would completely suck.

So I just grab a damp rag and some laundry soap from the kitchen, while Erlich looks on (why is there laundry soap in the kitchen) and start scrubbing the carpet. It's not really that bad. I can sort of pretend it was a... cat or something. I probably fed it something really old because I didn't want to waste food, and now I've made it sick because I'm a terrible pet owner. And the cat doesn't like me, and hides under the couch all the time. That's why no one sees it... well, not really, it just doesn't exist.

"Richard, are you done over there?" Erlich calls. 

"Oh, yeah, almost," I say. When I finish, I stand up and walk to the kitchen, but I'm not totally sure what to do with the puke rag, so I just sort of drop it in the trash and step sideways. I'm not going to think about that right now. I'm going to start washing the dishes with... laundry soap? No, wait, the dish soap is right next to the paper towels.

"Richard, I no longer feel that you're contributing anything of value to this house," says Erlich. I want to say something bad but I can't lose my... my...

"Well-- well, fuck you! I... you own ten percent, ten percent of a company! Which is based on an algorithm I built, and now, you know, I'm unemployed and you are trying t--to tell me I don't contribute?" Aand, that's the second time today that I have COMPLETELY gone off on someone. Oh god, I am doomed, he's going to make me, why did I say--

"Richard, I'm not kicking you out," says Erlich.

"What?"

Erlich says it again. 

"I'm not kicking you out!" he repeats. I realize that my arms are in the air and I put them down.

"You... didn't need to get louder, I heard you the first time. When I said 'what', I just meant... um, never mind. But, then, what's all this about me not contributing?" I ask.

"Richard, this house is disgusting. You just threw a rag saturated with your own vomit into our trashcan. I need you to do some goddamn cleaning if you want to stick around." says Erlich. Okay. Okay. It's going to be all right. 

"Yes. Fine. I can do that," I answer. I really shouldn't have put that rag in the trash, even, like, an eight year old would know not to do that.

"Good," says Erlich, "now clean out the fridge, because I can't find shit in there." 

This is going to be a real pain in the ass, but at least I'm not getting kicked out. Not that I came here wanting to be a cleaning lady... man for a bunch of messy programmers, but at least I won't have to pay rent until I get another job. That is, if Gavin Belson really isn't keeping me from getting one. Agh, who left this lettuce in here? It is literal mush right now. Literal. And I'm using the word literal in the correct sense! Then the doorbell rings. 

"Get the door, Dinesh," says Gilfoyle, from the living room.

"Excuse me? Who do you think you're talking to?" Dinesh answers.

"Someone who's going to answer the damn door."

This could go on a while.

"Guys, just forget it! I'll answer the door," I say. I walk through the living room, kick an empty Homicide can out of my way, and open the front door. It's Jared, who is holding a pathetically small... it isn't even a suitcase, it's some kind of bag. 

 

"Oh, hi, Jared. I didn't even notice you were gone. But now you are... back. Yeah. So, what's with the bag?" I ask. Jared flashes a disturbingly wide smile.

"Well, Noah has actually moved away, so I'll be staying here with you guys! To be honest, I'm really happy about it. Makes me feel like I'm part of the team," he says. 

"Wow, I did not know that. But, um, where are we going to put you?" I say. Erlich creeps up behind me (I don't know where he learned that, but I hope he forgets it soon) and says:

"Invest in some earplugs, Richard. He's paying rent, unlike you." Jared's face immediately falls, and I almost can't help but feel bad for him.

"I wouldn't want to inconvenience anyone, so I could just sleep... somewhere else. Is there room in the garage?" 

"Not unless you want to sleep on my computer system," Gilfoyle replies. This does not make Jared decide that he'll be sleeping in my room, unfortunately (or fortunately, maybe) and he starts reeling off this list of places he could sleep.

"Well, I realize that the couch is being used for... 'beer and sex purposes', thank you, Erlich. But with a minimal amount of effort, I could probably sleep under it. Or, you know, it would actually be better just to sleep on the floor. I don't have anything to sleep on, but if you'd just let me borrow some linens, then I think I could potentially figure something out," Jared says, looking at Erlich a little too intensely. So maybe I should just let Jared sleep in my room, huh? 

"It's fine, Jared. Erlich's right, I'll just get some earplugs," I say. I don't want him to have to sleep on the floor when there's a free bed. That's just being an asshat.

"Are you sure that it won't be a problem for you?" asks Jared. I shake my head, and then quickly walk away, because that fridge still needs cleaning. I open the door, pick the rag back up (maybe the reason I can't find the cat is that it died in here), and I'm about to start when I hear footsteps. Jared's followed me into the kitchen. 

"Could you use some help there, Richard? I don't mean to intrude, but it looks like you have quite a task ahead of you," he says. On the one hand, I don't really feel like dealing with anyone. On the other hand, those strawberries are more mold than fruit now. 

"You can help me out if you want to," I say. Should I apologize for earlier? Maybe later. 

"You know, I think that when we bought these, I was still working at Hooli," says Jared, taking a closer look at the expiration date on the strawberries. I laugh, and Jared looks over at me, surprised. I look at the floor, then take the strawberries from Jared, and put them in the trash. Oh. My puke rag is still in there. I grab a grocery bag off the counter, put it on my hand, and use it to pick up the rag. 

"Um, Richard? What's that you've got there?" asks Jared, furrowing his brow. 

"I really do not want to talk about it," I say quickly. He doesn't question me, and I run outside to the dumpster. Jian Yang is out there, and he's cooking meat over a trash fire. 

I'm definitely not being the one to tell Erlich that, so I just pretend I didn't see it and run back inside. Jared is putting a fresh trash bag into the can, and he has another question I don't feel like answering.

"Richard, do you have any idea where that smoke is coming from? That isn't ours, is it?" 

"Um, I'm not totally sure. But I think it's from next door," I say. This is not one of my responsible days. Also, I don't think I have those. It doesn't matter right this second, though, and that's good enough for Jared, and we both start going through the fridge again. 

Some stuff is fine, some is just messy, and some foods have ceased to be edible and become eldritch abominations. I look at some spoiled yogurt, and mumble:

"That monster you see before you? It was once... a food." I don't mean for Jared to hear me, but he does, and he laughs. Even though the joke was kind of stupid. I don't hear Jared laugh a whole lot, though, and it's kind of infectious. I realize that it's been a while since I laughed either, and now there are two things I thought were funny. 

Okay, so maybe not a crowning achievement, but it's something. Especially given that I've spent most of the time since my firing wanting to stab myself (and everyone else) in the head. That's what things are going to be for a while, I guess. A pain in the ass, not great by any means, but... something. 

I could learn to deal with something. But who the fuck put taco shells in the fridge? An eight year old would know they go in the pantry.


	2. As A Team

Richard and I don’t have a lot to talk about while we clean the refrigerator, so we just make jokes about how old some of the food must be. At least he seems calm, which is far better than he was earlier. At least he’s laughing, even if it may be nervous laughter. I’m tempted to ask him about his mental state, but I certainly don’t want to intrude. In my experience, people don’t do well with those kinds of questions. They don’t do well with… honesty?

“I think we might actually be done here,” Richard says. He wipes imaginary sweat off of his brow, and I can’t tell whether it’s unintentional or some kind of visual metaphor… I should maybe try not to think about it so much. 

“Oh, I’d agree. Would you maybe... care to have a drink then? I mean, not alcohol necessarily…” I start to say. But then I see Richard’s face, and he clearly isn’t interested. Stupid!

“Yeah, um, no thank you, Jared,” he says. He trundles off into the living room, obviously not doing anything in particular. He just doesn’t want to talk to me. Of course. He’s just my boss, it isn’t like he’s my friend or anything else. I don’t even want to know what I’m calling “anything else”. I walk up to my room and listen to the stairs creak. Stairs creak a lot, probably because there isn’t any easy way to get them fixed. You’d have to get the supports replaced, I think. Or maybe it’s just something with the floorboards. The point is, I remember a lot of creaking stairs. Then I freeze, because I’m hearing something other than the stairs. I hear Richard, talking to Erlich, just a little too loud.

“Everyone has all these ‘when’ questions for me! Like, when am I going to get a job? When am I going to start paying rent? The only ‘when’ question I have is, when did I start being such a fucking loser?” says Richard. 

“Richard, don’t be a drama queen. I’m not asking you for rent, I just want a due date. Maybe a time frame. Because right now, you’re at the level of a skeezy-ass contractor who doesn’t motherfucking know how long it’ll take to get parts for my plumbing!” Erlich answers. So Richard did have something to do after cleaning the refrigerator. He had to have this conversation.

“Listen, I am doing what I can. I’m cleaning your house for you, okay? And also, you pay a contractor to do things, which is why… he’s supposed to do the things! You aren’t paying me,” says Richard. Oh no, he’s cracking here. Richard is obviously not in a right state, and if Erlich goes on like this, Richard could actually get kicked out. I doubt it, but… I walk back down the stairs, and into the room. This situation needs a mediator. 

“Okay, so I think there are multiple solutions to this issue,” I say. Erlich actually groans. That’s all right. I’m sure he’ll appreciate this later, however reluctuantly. Richard just buries his face in his hands. I’m fairly certain that’s an even worse sign, but I’d better go ahead from here.

“So, Erlich, you want Richard to give you a time frame for when he will begin paying rent. Richard, you are against this idea. Now, I would say that there are two underlying issues here. One, that Richard fears he would be unable to make rent. And two, that he was unaware that the cleaning arrangement was temporary to this extent, and you, Erlich, did not realize that he… also didn’t realize. So you’re both left feeling that the other has gone back on an agreement,” I say, ending with a smile. That’s good for lifting the mood, right? At least they’re both looking at me now, which I would call a positive sign. 

“Well, shit,” says Erlich, “I wasn’t gonna be an ogre about it or something. I’m not going to be like, oh, time’s up, get the fuck out of my house.” Richard scowls. Before he can say something angry, I start to talk for him.

“I think that Richard wasn’t really getting that impression.” Richard looks over at me.

“Um, you-- you don’t get to talk for me, Jared. In fact, how long have you been listening in on-- oh, never mind. But you know, yeah, Erlich, you could have said it a little nicer,” he says. He looks away from me, but he still isn’t looking at Erlich. Now he’s just looking at the ground, hands shoved in his pockets. He seems embarrassed. 

Erlich looks at me, then at Richard. He seems to know that he’s made a mistake. 

“Fuck it, I’ll just tell you to pay rent when I need it. Don’t say I didn’t warn you. Oh, and stickboy: Richard and I can handle things ourselves, so next time, just stay the hell out of it,” says Erlich. I’m a little hurt, because I really think my presence was a help. But I smile anyway, because you don’t do good things to get something in return-- you do them because they’re good.

“All right, Erlich, I’ll keep that in mind,” I say. Richard just nods at Erlich and walks back into the kitchen. I follow him, and watch while he pours himself a drink. An alcoholic one. It’s a weekday, so I think I’ll just have tea for now.

“Can you not stare at me?” he asks. Oh. Didn’t mean to do that.

“I’m sorry, I was just wondering if you’d mind me sitting here,” I say. 

“Do whatever you want,” says Richard. Well, I’ll take what I can get. I sit down next to him.

“You know,” I say, “I’ve been doing a lot of the tidying up here. If you need any help with anything, you can always ask me.” Richard almost smiles, but then he looks towards the sink and raises an eyebrow.

“Actually, I think I do have a question. I was just, um, getting stuff out of the kitchen earlier, and… why exactly is there laundry soap in here?” he asks. So maybe I was hoping he wouldn’t ask that. It’s something like one of those things people are always accusing me of: “creepy”, “trying too hard”, et cetera. But I owe him an honest answer, at least in part because I’m pleasantly surprised that he even noticed the discrepancy.

“This may come off as a little strange, but since your washing machine broke, I’ve been coming here at night and washing everyone’s clothes in the sink,” I say. Richard is momentarily speechless, but then he starts trying to say things. It doesn’t quite come out in real sentences, though. 

“Wait, since when has it-- but how did you-- oh my god, have you been… why?” says Richard. I’m fairly certain I can extrapolate the questions he was trying to ask, and make an attempt to answer them to his satisfaction. I give him a friendly smile, and he looks a little horrified. That’s completely okay. I’m sure he’ll be fine once I explain myself.

“The washing machine broke about a month ago. I was finding myself awake at night, well, very often. So I thought, why waste the money on what I could just do myself? I left a back window unlocked, and no one even noticed. I swear it wasn’t really that inconvenient,” I say.   
Richard’s expression is still confused, but there isn’t much to be done for that. I’ve said my piece. 

“Um… I guess if you don’t mind, then it’s okay? I was just not expecting that to be the answer. Also, the idea of you randomly coming into the house while everyone’s asleep is pretty weird. Like, just... who does that? Well, I guess now I know you do. But the point is, I think tomorrow we should just, um, call a guy to come fix the washing machine," says Richard. 

I know he's saying I did something weird, wrong, all that. But he said "we". We're going to call a repairman. Together, as a team, if that's really what he meant to say.

"Oh! Yes! Definitely," I tell him, "and I think tomorrow I can help you out with the cleaning, you know, show you the ropes. Richard raises his eyebrows.

"I think I'm supposed to be doing this by myself. I mean, you're actually paying rent, and you have work to do..." he says, trailing off. I really want to help him, though. He needs it. He knows that. I look him in the eyes, and lean forward. I want to look focused. I want to seem to know what I want. I want to actually know what exactly it is I want. But I should start by telling Richard what's what.

"Richard, please let me help you. I... not to embarrass you, but I heard you and Erlich, and I don't think that you can do this alone. I've been doing all the laundry in a kitchen sink, so I would guess that means I can spare some time for you," I say. I breathe out hard. Richard moves his head back. I may have breathed in his face. But he nods. He doesn't look very pleased, but he's saying yes.  
"Yeah, Jared, I--I kinda went off on you earlier, plus you helped me with the fridge, and you got Erlich off my ass... I don't know how. I guess I really could use your help around here, just... maybe try to sit a little farther back next time?" Richard says. His posture looks crumpled, defeated, and I'm hoping so much that it isn't something I said. I want him to stop looking like that. He has to have pride in himself, even if he doesn't feel like there's a reason. And he should possibly take a shower, because I don't think he has for... quite some time. It's not a pleasant smell. 

"All right then, I'm glad to hear that. We can start tomorrow," I say. Richard nods again, and I'd like him to say something else, but he just puts his glass in the sink and walks out of the room, tripping over an empty Homicide can on the way out. He swears loudly. I almost go help him up, but then he gets up on his own, and dusts himself off. I just sit at the table, drinking my tea, and hoping Richard will be all right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This ended up being more of an interim chapter, but Richard and Jared are sort of friends now-- even if it's mostly a friendship of convenience on Richard's end-- which gives them more time to actually interact. Slow burn indeed. Anyway, I'll be following up as soon as I can with the next chapter, which will again be from Richard's perspective.


	3. Not Too Much

Jared wakes me up bright and early, by standing over me and poking me in the side. I yank my earplugs out (I found a pair around the house, I think they were Carla’s), and roll over.

“Jared, please… what time is it?” I mumble.

“It’s six in the morning! I know that for you it might be a little early, but it’s really much better to get a head start. That way, you’ll have time to relax in the evening,” says Jared. 

I don’t think I’ll ever relax again. I also don't think I've gotten up this early since I quit Hooli. Which isn't exactly a long time, but enough for my sleeping schedule to be fucked up. To be honest, the only reason I'd be up at six is if I never fell asleep. Not Jared, though. He's already got his hair gelled to his head like he's a vampire or something... except that vampires are nocturnal. Jared is more like reverse nocturnal.

And Dracula slicks his hair back. You slick it like... across," I slur. Okaaay, did not mean to say that out loud, fantastic start to the morning here.

"Um, excuse me? What did you say?" Jared says. I'm starting to think that letting him help me was a bad idea, but I've really put my foot in it now, so I just say "nothing" and stumble my way out of bed.

Jared is already dressed, and I just grab some clothes and change in the bathroom (even though it feels weird and the floor is cold) because otherwise he'd probably watch me get dressed or something. He's already been breaking into our house. I put stuff on as quickly as I can, and when I finish I swing the door open wide. And then realize too late that Jared was standing in front of it. I hit him in the face with it, and then immediately take a step backwards.

"Shit!" I say, "Are you, um, okay?" I feel so stupid, oh my god. Don't get Richard up early, he'll hit you in the face with A FUCKING DOOR!

"Oh, I'll be perfectly fine. Let me just get some tissues," says Jared. His nose is bleeding, because that's just the kind of guy I am.

"Maybe--maybe you should actually sit down for a second," I say. He steps into the bathroom, smiling apologetically.

"No," says Jared, "it's fine. That kind of thing happens to me all the time." Okay, I... did not want 

to hear that. Actually, it makes me feel worse. It makes me feel worse. Yeah, well, story of my life.

"All right, I'm about done here. So I was thinking we could start by walking around the house and pick up anything that's obviously trash. The great thing about being up so early is that no one will bother us," says Jared. I nod, and we walk into the kitchen for a trash bag. I hold it while Jared picks stuff up, and it makes me feel kind of useless just standing here. I guess Jared can tell, because he asks if I want to switch.

"Oh, yeah... sure," I say. I hand him the bag, and look around the room for trash. I don't have to look long, because I see something on the floor. 

"What... is that? Is it, uh... some kind of wrapper?" Jared looks as confused as I am, but I just grab the shiny side of it with my fingertips and hand it to him.

"Well, given that you've just touched it, I think it's better not to speculate," Jared says. I’m sort of afraid it was, like, a weird kind of condom. I’ve already thrown it out, though, so Jared’s probably right. 

“Yeah, probably,” I say. Other than that, though, there isn’t too much actual trash in the kitchen, just some food wrappers and paper cups. The mess here is mostly dishes in the sink, which we’re going to get to later. Me and Jared-- no, Jared and I. Still holding the ultimate crown of the least annoying person in my life. I’ve been bitching all morning, but things haven’t been the easiest for him either. 

He helped me look for a job (even if it completely failed) he helped me clean out the fridge, he got in Erlich’s face so I didn’t have to (even if it only worked by accident), he did everyone’s laundry in the sink (even if seriously, what the hell). I said a little, but how did I thank him? By letting him help me clean the house. Just a really fantastic reward there. All I did was think about how much I sucked, right after hitting him in the face with a door. Because I was too busy being sorry for myself to be sorry for him. Maybe I was right that day at TechCrunch. Maybe I don’t appreciate him enough. 

“Richard, can you… come here for a moment?” I’m just hoping this isn’t something that’ll make me want to take that back. He’s walked out of the room, and is now looking out the sliding glass doors and into the yard.

“What are you looking at?” I ask, because I really have no idea. The burnt grass is on the front lawn, not back here. He points down at the ground right outside, and then I see it. A dead bird.

“These kinds of doors are very hazardous to birds, Richard,” says Jared. He looks so serious I almost laugh, and I have to choke it back and put a hand over my mouth. He doesn’t notice.

“Wow, I… did not know that,” I say. 

“Well, that’s just why nature education is so important. I can’t believe I didn’t think of this before. More to the point, would you mind waiting while I go and get some soap from upstairs?” says Jared. I’m not totally sure what he wants that for, but I don’t think I can stop him from being a bird hero, so I just nod and try to look solemn. He comes back with two wet bars of hand soap. He gives one to me, and starts rubbing his all over the doors. I have no idea what Jared thinks he’s doing.

“Wait, what? What are you doing?” I say. As usual, Jared smiles.

“If I put soap on the doors, birds will be able to see that they’re a solid surface. That way, they won’t crash into them,” he says, like doing this makes perfect sense.

“I don’t think Erlich is going to be okay with that,” I say.

“Well, I’ve already started now,” he says, without even a little regret, “and it’s only for the migrating season, so it isn’t so bad.” I start soaping up the doors too, because he’s already started, he really wants to do it, and I can at least say it wasn’t my fault. 

“By the way, that’s an American Woodcock, sometimes referred to as a timberdoodle. I can tell by the size and shape of the beak. It’s a good thing that it isn’t endangered, it’s actually the most common North American sandpiper. Sorry if I’m confusing you-- do you know what a sandpiper is?” asks Jared. He looks so earnest I can’t just lie and say I do. Besides, I don’t think I could ever bluff my way through a conversation about birds. Yeah, not likely.

“I don’t, actually,” I say.

“Would you mind if I told you a bit about them?” says Jared. 

“I guess that’d be okay,” I answer. He looks so happy that it’s kind of disturbing. In a way, though, it isn’t so bad. I don’t think I know anyone who’s this enthusiastic about anything, let alone… sandpipers. 

“Well, they’re a kind of shorebird, which is why their legs are so long. They usually eat different things, because of their beak length. So a lot of different kinds of sandpiper can coexist in one place, which might just be my favorite thing about them,” says Jared. I’m not sure what to say, since I don’t know anything about birds. I just tell him that I guess he knows a lot about them, and he looks kind of embarrassed. 

“Oh, not really. I just go birding in my free time,” he says. I have to wonder how exactly he ended up getting a tech job, but I don’t ask. If there’s one thing I know about people and their jobs, it’s that you don’t always end up where you want. And, well, it isn’t always a fun story to tell. 

“That’s-that’s cool. I think we’re about done here,” I say. Jared nods.

“Just about,” he says. We walk back into the kitchen and leave the soap in the sink.

“Just for now,” Jared says. He’s the only person who could say that and have me believe it. I literally cannot imagine him making a mess on purpose. Well, I can, but it feels weird and cartoonish and super unlikely. If Jared had a trading card, it’d say: Fun Fact: Jared Dunn’s hobbies include soaping up a door to save birds, because that’s just how randomly nice he is. The picture would be of him smiling and giving a thumbs up. 

“I guess we should start picking up the living room,” I say. Jared and I walk over there, and then start picking up the candy wrappers and energy drinks. I pick up a phone off the table, and see that the time is now 6:45. Nobody will probably be up until eight, and nobody’s stayed up all night coding or something. The house is empty and quiet, and it’s just so calm I can hardly believe it. The world always seems like it’s full of people yelling and getting in my face, and eating, and talking, and laughing, and it’s too much. It’s nice just to have even a little quiet, even though I have to pick up the mess all those yelling/eating/talking/laughing people left here. And god, are they gross. I never even noticed before, and I think of a question. The answer is pretty obvious, but I just ask anyway. 

“So, um, have you been cleaning up after us? I mean, like ever since you started working here?” I say.

“Well, yes. Someone needed to do it, or the clutter would have been too much! It’s mostly for me, in a lot of ways. I like staying organized,” Jared says. 

“Well,” I tell him, “we’d probably be drowning in like, this… biblical trash flood. If you hadn’t been helping out, I mean.” 

“It really isn’t any trouble at all, especially now since you’re doing it with me,” says Jared. Oh. Wow. He just sounds so happy and so grateful and on one hand, that’s really weird. I mean, this guy is constantly doing all this for other people, even though he doesn’t have to. Who does that? Well, I know the answer to that. But I have another question by now: Why do I think that’s so bad? Yeah, he shouldn’t have to be responsible for all this stuff, and it’s kind of crazy of him to think he should be. But maybe that’s why it’s good for me to help out, even if Jared is a little creepy.

“Thanks, I--I’m glad to hear that. Hey, I know this would, um, kind of put us off track, but as long as we’re here with the computers, why don’t we try and look up a repair guy?” I ask. Because he really can’t keep doing our laundry. That’s insane. 

“Sure, Richard. There’s a lot of time in the day, and we do need to get that done,” says Jared. It’s so good just to have somebody listen for once. For sure. And it’s good to know that this won’t be as bad as I thought it would be. I wouldn’t really mind another morning like this one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, here we have chapter 3! I put it off for a little while, but now it's here-- and Richard is finally warming up to Jared, which'll make writing later chapters a lot easier. Thanks for all your support, guys!


	4. Slipup

Richard and I are leaning in towards the same laptop, looking at listings for somewhat (in Erlich’s words) “skeezy” repairmen. Personally, I prefer the word “shady”. Also, I remain unsure whether skeezy is a word to begin with. 

“This guy looks okay,” says Richard. I nod, but it’s always better to be sure.   
“Yes, but we should still probably look him up on Angie’s List. I have a subscription,” I say.   
“Wait, weren’t people, like, paying for reviews on there? Or is that something else?” asks Richard. I don’t remember, and so we’ll have to look it up. Richard tends towards the paranoid side of the spectrum, but… it’s always better to be sure. I start to type in a search, then remember that Richard was the one using the keyboard a moment ago. 

“Sorry,” I say, “just forgot what I was doing.” Richard says it’s fine, which people say quite a lot when they don’t actually mean it. Not that I think he’s being deceitful, but-- you know, this is why I try not to think too much. As it turns out, Wikipedia says that companies that pay to advertise on Angie’s List have a significant advantage, and that the site will sometimes have bad reviews on these companies altered or removed. That’s a disappointment. 

“Maybe I should consider using Yelp instead. It’s even less reliable, but at least it’s free,” I say. Richard shrugs.

“It’s not like Angie’s List is a total scam, they just want to keep their advertisers. I mean, it’s kind of shitty, but most companies do it,” he says.

“But at least we’re different than that kind of thing,” I say, smiling. As soon as I say it I realize. I honestly forgot, oh, how could I have said that? So incredibly stupid of me. Richard looks at me, and gives me the saddest face I have seen on anyone who isn’t an upset child or a bus stop panhandler. 

“I did not-- did not mean to say that. At all. I am so, so sorry,” I say, and it simply doesn’t feel like enough. I wish there was a word that had about four times the impact of sorry, but I would probably overuse that too, and then it would stop having any impact at all. Sorry. 

“It, uh, it was an accident, Jared. You just, well, forgot that it isn’t we. Just you. Let’s just go ahead and check Angie’s List,” says Richard. I want to say something, but I don’t know what, because he has been fired. He’s not wrong to feel disappointed, and to be upset I reminded him. I am going to say something anyway. 

“Richard, listen. I’m aware that you feel very bad about losing your job, and I’m sorry I reminded you. But you should know that there are good kinds of failure, and those are the kinds that inspire you to grow as a person. Right now, it might seem impossible, and it might seem as though the world, or Gavin Belson, is conspiring against you. You can believe all of those things, but it’s using them as an excuse not to act that makes them true,” I say. Richard looks dumbfounded at first, as though he can’t believe that I’ve dropped this overlong speech in his lap to apologize for so few words. I’m left hoping for a look of recognition, of respect, of anything. Nearly anything except for the face that I do get, when I see Richard go from sad to confused to bitter. 

“I bet you gave a lot of people at Hooli that speech, right? It’s the exact kind of inverted bullshit logic that they use when they’re trying to cover their asses. I’m not trying to--to cover my ass, Jared. Or… whatever. It’s not like it’s personal, I’m just not going to buy into that type of inspirational garbage,” he says. I want to say something angry, answer back without a logical reply. But that isn’t going to help, and I can’t say with clear conscience that Richard deserves it. So I say something else, because the important thing is fixing this as best I can.

“I apologize for starting down this line of conversation, but I can’t undo it, and I intend to finish. Yes, I’ve told people things that are a lot like what I just told you. But I don’t like you implying that I would lie to you. Also, I think we should just hire this repairman and take our chances, because he seems reputable,” I say. When I’m done, I feel out of breath. Richard looks at least neutral. Neutral, if confused.

“Geez, it’s… it’s not that big of a deal, actually. Um, never mind any of what I just said. Really, forget it. I don’t want to talk about that,” says Richard. Not quite ideal, but better than nothing. Something is almost always better than nothing, so even just “something” can be counted as a good thing. 

Richard is the kind of person prone to, well, a lot of ups and downs. He went from happy, to confused, to angry, to being confused again. I'm not that kind of person-- I work very hard at being optimistic. For example, we now have a repairman who is scheduled to come the day after tomorrow. I won't have to do the laundry by hand any more. It's the end of an era. But in a good way. See, this is why it's always better to think positive.

"We better... get back to cleaning," says Richard. He's glum, but I can definitely handle glum. I've had to work with wrecked, devastated, et cetera. I know what I'm doing. Richard gets the broom from the kitchen, and starts sweeping. I go in with him, and get a rag to wipe down the workspaces (Gilfoyle apparently harbors a strong dislike for drink coasters). Richard doesn't talk to me, though. Maybe I can start over by breaking the ice a little bit.   
"So, I've been doing a lot of birding lately. You were saying I knew a lot about birds, and I was thinking that I maybe I could recommend you a few books," I say. Birds are a nice, inoffensive topic. Everyone likes birds. 

"Um... okay. Just, show me later, I guess?" Richard replies. He doesn't sound so interested, but that's okay. Anyone can be converted to a fervent birder, it's really so exciting once you go out and do it. I smile at him, but he just raises an eyebrow, and then looks at the floor. I have to keep working at this, I have to make up for saying something so insensitive. We finish cleaning the living room quietly, and move on to the downstairs bathroom. 

"After this," I say, "we can take a break." Richard nods, and I smile. But I remember what he said, "it isn't me. Just you," and I felt like I'd ruined something. We were so close to being a team, but now it's just me. Like always, right? That is exactly the kind of thing my therapist told me not to say. Broadly self-deprecating things. But even if I would hate to offend someone, I can think whatever I like. But maybe I should just... try not to think too much.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I realize that this chapter is way short (and after the unannounced monthlong hiatus I took), and it actually sets back Jared and Richard's relationship a bit. There's another, longer and better chapter on the way soon. Sorry, y'all.

**Author's Note:**

> So, this is my first multi-chapter fic in a long time, and my first fanfiction for this fandom. It should go without saying that I'd love feedback, basically, just so I can know how I'm doing and what to fix. You guys are a pretty cool fandom, and I trust you not to be asshats. Also, the next chapter will be from Jared's perspective, and probably a bit more openly shippy.


End file.
